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1.    CHESTNUT   HORSES.    (i6  x  lo) 


HORSES   AND    MOVEMENT 

from    PAINTINGS    and    DRAWINGS    hy     L.    D.    LUARD 

With  a  Note  on  the  Drawing  of  Movement,   by  the 
Artist,    and    a    Foreword    by   MARTIN     HARDIE 

With  Right  Plates  in  Colour  and  Twenty-four  in  Halftone 


CASSELL    AND    COMPANY,    LTD 

London,   New  York,  Toronto   and    Melbourne  ^    J-    1921 


LIST   OF   PLATES 


1.  Chestnut  Horses  {Colour)    Frontispiece 

2.  Up  the  Boulevard  {Colour) 

3.  Coup  de  Collier 

4.  TOURNANT   LE   ToMBEREAU 

5.  Ploughing  near  Salisbury 

6.  Charging  the  Slope  {Colour) 


7.  At  Water  :    Up  the  Seine 

8.  Trotting  :    Paris  Bus  Team 

9.  Between  the  Stages  :    Paris 

10.  On  the  Top  of  the  Bank 

11.  Under  the  Trees  {Colour) 

12.  Harrowing 


LIST   OF  PLATES 


13.  Up  the  "  Rampe  " 

14.  Timber-hauling  on  the  Seine 

15.  Springing  'em 

16.  A  Summer  Sky  {Colour) 

17.  The  Shirker 

18.  Night  Work 

19.  The  Black  Horse 

20.  Stone-cart  :    Bird's  Eye  View 

21.  Turning  the  Corner  :    French  Stone-cart 

22.  The  Sunny  Quay  [Colour) 

NOTE.— I  have  to  thank  Miss  Sibyl  Maude,  Mme.  Rotival,  Mr.  R.  A. 
Blackwell,  and  Mr.  A.  H.  Macpherson  for  kindly  lending  me  pictures 
for  reproduction. 


23.  Led  Horses 

24.  Dead  Beat  :  French  Artillery,  the  Somme,  1916 

25.  An  Effort 

26.  Backing 

27.  On  the  Hill-top  near  Paris  [Colour) 

28.  Fallen 

29.  Blown 

30.  Sand-carts 

31.  Gun  Team  in  a  Crater 

32.  The  Seine  :    Winter  [Colour) 

Reproductions  Nos.  3,  7,  10,  12,  14, 17  and  20  are  from  photographs 
by  E.  Crevaux,  of  Paris ;  and  Nos.  4,  5,  8,  9,  13,  15  and  25  by 
S.  L.  Eavestaff,  of  London. 


FOREWORD 


THE  keynote  of  the  paintings  and  drawings 
reproduced  in  this  volume  is  Movement. 
Work  so  full  of  force  and  originality 
speaks  for  itself,  but  its  interest  is  enhanced  by  an 
introductory  article  in  which  the  artist  explains  what 
he  maintains  to  be  fundamental  principles  in  the 
drawing  of  movement.  "  The  words,  Life  is  Move- 
ment," he  once  remarked  in  conversation,  "  should 
be  in  capital  letters  over  the  studio  door."  And 
in  a  sense  it  is  true,  for  even  the  massive  and 
apparently  immovable  cathedral  is  obeying  the  laws  of 
movement,  gaining  stability  as  the  outcome  of  the  bal- 
ance of  opposing  forces  thrusting  and  resisting.  In 
this  article  Mr.  Luard  tells  us  also  from  a  scientific 
point  of  view  just  how  we  are  impressed  by  movement 
in  nature,  though  he  does  not  mean  to  imply  that 
movement  in  Art  needs  to  include  all  such  impressions. 
In  his  Introduction  he  speaks  with  so  much  au- 
thority and  writes  with  so  stimulating  an  appeal  to 
every    student    of    drawing,    that    one    feels    that    any 


further  preface  is  superfluous.  If,  therefore,  I  have  the 
sense  of  trespassing  on  another  man's  private  property, 
my  excuse  and  justification  must  be  my  own  admira- 
tion of  Mr.  Luard's  work,  and  the  hope  that  a  fairly 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  artist  and  of  his  aims  and 
methods  may  enable  me  to  show  how  admirably  these 
drawings  embody  the  principles  which  he  upholds.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  possible  for  me  to  refer  more  directly  to 
his  work  than  the  artist's  own  modesty  would  permit, 
and  to  emphasize  the  close  relationship  between 
Mr.  Luard's  theory  of  drawing  movement  and  his  own 
practice,  as  illustrated  in  what  I 
feel  to  be  the  remarkable,  and 
in  many  ways  unique,  series  of 
paintings  and  drawings  repro- 
duced in  this  volume. 

But  first,  for  the  benefit  of 
students  who  are  interested  in 
these  drawings,  as  they  surely 
must    be,    something    should,   I 


6 


FOREWORD 


think,  be  said  as  to  Mr.  Luard's  own  training  and 
career,  and  I  hope  that  the  artist  will  forgive  a  critic, 
who  is  fully  conscious  that  good  wine  needs  no  bush, 
for  playing  the  showman. 

Lowes  Dalbiac  Luard,  as  the  name  shows,  belongs 
to  an  old  Huguenot  family  of  Norman-French  origin, 
and  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  one  of  the  capitals  in 
the  Abbaye  aux  Femmes  at  Caen,  from  which  town  the 
family  fled  after  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  was  designed  and 
carved  by  a  Luard.  It  is  clear  that  the  family's  artistic 
bent  has  always  been  strong  and  persistent.  His  grand- 
father, though  a  soldier  by  profession,  was  also  a  note- 
worthy artist.  For  sufficient  testimony  we  may  refer 
to  his  "  Views  of  India  "  and  his  "  Dress  of  the  British 
Army,"  and  more  remarkable  still,  a  series  of  water 
colours  executed  for  a  diorama  of  Indian  life,  which  was 
painted  in  oils  by  Louis  Haghe  and  shown  at  the  old 
"  Globe "  in  Leicester  Square,  and  afterwards  in 
America. 

Mr.  Luard's  uncle,  John  Luard,  also  a  soldier,  became 
an  artist,  joined  the  Pre-Raphaelite  movement,  and  for 
some  time  shared  a  studio  with  Sir  John  Millais.  One 
of  his  Crimean  subjects  had  so  great  a  success  at  the 
Academy  that  it  had  to  be  railed  off  from  the  crowd. 
As  Colonel  Luard,  R.E.,  his  father,  was  also  an  extremely 


clever  water-colour  artist,  it  is  hardly  surprising  that 
Art  should  have  claimed  Mr.  Luard  for  her  own. 

Mr.  Luard  was  born  in  India  and  educated  at  Clifton 
College,  where  the  neighbouring  Zoo  was  an  unfailing 
attraction  to  a  boy  keenly  interested  in  drawing  living 
animals.  But  even  before  that  time  movement  was  his 
great  interest.  From  the  age  of  five  he  was  constantly 
drawing  horses,  always  in  motion  ;  and  family  tradition 
tells  how,  when  only  eight  years  old,  he  actually  lost  his 
dinner  one  day  through  following  a  milkmaid  carrying 
cans  on  a  yoke,  keenly  alert  to  watch  the  balance  of  her 
pails  and  swing  of  her  skirt,  of  which  he  afterwards 
made  a  complete  water-colour  drawing  from  memory. 
Even  at  that  early  age  it  never  occurred  to  him  not  to 
draw  a  thing  just  because  it  was  moving. 

On  leaving  Clifton,  he  worked  for  a  time  at  a  class 
in  Gower  Street,  conducted  by  Davis  Cooper,  son  of 
Abraham  Cooper,  R.A.  Passing  to  the  Slade  School, 
he  studied  under  Professors  Brown  and  Tonks.  At 
the  Slade,  though  he  profited  by  close  study  of  the 
figure,  he  was  never  really  stimulated  by  the  posed 
model.  It  was  when  the  model  rose  from  the  throne, 
and  moved  naturally  and  freely,  relaxed  his  limbs,  and 
stretched  his  arms,  that  Luard  began  to  draw  with  real 
interest  and  zest.     He  was  not  a  School  draughtsman. 


FOREWORD 


His  school  was  the  world  of  real  movement  outside  as 
recorded  in  the  rapid  and  concentrated  notes  and 
memoranda  made  from  quick  observation  in  his  own 
sketch  books. 

Though  he  settled  down  in  London  and  painted  a 
few  successful  portraits,  it  is  obvious,  from  what  has 
already  been  said,  that  ordinary  forms  of  laborious 
portraiture  could  never  be  the  first  interest  of  such  a 
temperament.  In  most  of  his  sitters  he  found  little  to 
stimulate  his  artistic  interest  ;  he  felt  again  his  in- 
stinctive dislike  of  the  posed  figure,  though  with  children, 
who  cannot  pose,  he  was  often  particularly  happy.  He 
felt,  rightly,  that,  as  a  rule,  his  first  swift  sketch  in 
chalk  conveyed  more  of  vitality  than  the  finished  work 
in  oil. 

It  was  with  this  feeling  that  he  determined,  in  1904, 
to  follow  out  a  course  of  drawing  in  the  studios  of  Paris. 
He  went  there  intending  to  stay  for  three  months  ;  he 
has  stayed  there  ever  since.  It  so  happened  that  soon 
after  he  arrived  the  boulevard  opposite  to  his  flat  was 
dug  up  for  repair,  and  became  mouvementS  with  the 
going  and  coming  of  carts  and  horses,  the  lift  and 
heave  of  figures  hammering  and  digging.  Movement,  as 
always,  held  him  at  once  in  thrall,  but  it  was  the  French 
draught  horse  that  really  kept  him  in  Paris.    As  he  once 


remarked  to  me,  the  horse  is  interesting  because  it  is 
the  only  real  nude  we  can  see  daily  at  work.  And  here 
on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  in  all  weathers  and  with 
untiring  concentration,  he  would  watch  these  splendid 
Percheron  horses,  which  pull  as  much  by  energy  as  by 
weight,  struggling  up  the  steep  slopes  with  their  heavy 
loads  of  sand  and  stone.  This  it  was  that  first  inspired 
the  characteristic  series  of  subjects  that  have  held  him 
ever  since,  and  have  been  shown  year  after  year  in  his 
paintings  and  drawings  at  the  New  Salon  in  Paris,  the 
Goupil  Gallery  in  London,  and  elsewhere. 

Subject  and  treatment  are  a  matter  of  temperament. 
Ingres  was  all  for  pure  and  severe  line.  Chardin,  to 
take  another  example,  liked  to  sit  and  study  and  con- 
template. Most  people  prefer  the  static  to  the  dynamic, 
and  Mr.  Luard  would  grant  that  a  picture  representative 
of  movement  makes  many  people  uneasy.  He  realizes 
that  movement  tends  to  make  a  picture  restless,  and  that 
to  many  eyes  repose  has  become  one  of  the  essential 
qualities  of  art.  But  Mr.  Luard  does  not  feel  this  any 
more  than  did  such  painters  as  Rubens,  Goya  or  MiUet. 
He  can  paint  a  horse  in  a  stable,  a  lamb  browsing  among 
buttercups,  and  paint  them  well,  and  for  him  they 
would  be  interesting  studies  enough,  but  unstimulating  ; 
and  he  is  right  in  letting  the  personal  factor  overcome 


8 


FOREWORD 


impersonal  facts.  Was  it  Renan  who  said :  "  Le  plus 
grand  peintre  n'aperQoit  dans  le  monde  que  ce  qu'il  aime 
d  y  voir  ;  il y  a  une  preference  au  fond  de  chaque  talent?  "  * 
The  painter's  problem  is  not  to  represent  facts,  but  to 
express  the  feeling  stirred  in  him  by  what  he  sees.  It 
is  not  so  much  the  man  and  the  horse  that  interest 


Mr.  Luard  as  the  infinite  variety  of  rhythm  and  music 
in  the  toil  and  struggle  that  express  vitality  and  life. 

The  drawing  of  movement  should  appear  inevitable 
and  spontaneous,  like  the  lyric  in  poetry.  It  must  convey 
with  rapidity  the  keen  spell  of  some  intense  emotion  or 
experience.  The  draughtsman's  work  must  run  to  its  end 
with  a  rush  of  swift  decision,  without  halt  or  obstruction, 
and  in  its  unity  it   must   incorporate  and  express  the 

*  The  really  great  painter  has  eyes  only  for  what  he  wants  to  see  in  the  world 
about  him.     At  the  root  of  all  true  talent  there  lies  an  instinctive  preference. 


unity  of  the  experience  which  inspired  it.  Being,  in  this 
way,  the  direct  result  of  creative  impulse,  it  must  be  red- 
hot  :  it  cannot  be  produced  in  cold  blood.  Ingres  uses  a 
line  that  is  inevitable  in  its  perfection,  but  a  line  which 
is  opposed  to  the  expression  of  movement.  In  his  case  it 
is  an  instrument  forged  and  tempered  by  an  artist  of 
cold  passion,  whose  instinctive  preference  was  for  patient 
searching  observation,  only  possible  of  things  at  rest, 
one  who  from  his  heart  hated  the  swirling  Rubens  and 
all  his  works. 

It  follows  that  the  drawing  of  movement  cannot  con- 
form to  the  ordinary  rules  and  principles  that  circum- 
scribe the  drawing  of  a  stationary  object,  and  cannot  be 
judged  in  the  same  way.  As  Mr.  Luard  indicates,  there 
must  be  apparent  transgressions,  approximations,  abnor- 
malities. For  example,  a  horse's  leg  will  frequently  be 
more  expressive  if  longer  in  the  drawing  than  in  actual 
life  ;  it  may  be  distorted  ;  it  may  even  be  duplicated. 
In  looking  at  the  drawing  we  must  let  our  mind  and  eye 
make  the  necessary  adjustments,  just  as  we  make  them 
in  looking  at  nature  ;  and  the  drawing  must  be  judged, 
not  as  a  literal  rendering  of  nature,  but  as  a  spiritual 
interpretation  of  nature's  facts.  It  will  be  noticed, 
for  instance,  that  Mr.  Luard  is  sometimes  so  keenly 
interested  in  the  larger  problems  of  his  work  that  he 


FOREWORD 


ignores  the  smaller  facts.  He  may  omit  altogether  a 
horse's  harness  or  headpiece,  or  all  those  petty  details 
on  which  the  camera  insists.  Yet  he  summarizes  so 
boldly  for  the  eye  that  I  think,  in  most  cases,  such 
omissions  pass  unnoticed,  as  they  do  in  nature,  where  the 
movement  is  the  real  interest.  He  gives  things  which 
the  camera  picture  cannot  express,  for  with  the  camera 
there  can  be  no  selection,  no  emphasis,  no  accentuation 
of  the  important  or  suppression  of  the  unimportant — 
in  a  word,  none  of  the  emotion  that  is  naturally  neces- 
sary in  the  exercise  of  an  activity  which  is  an  emotional 
language.  And  when  you  come  to  study  and  analyse 
drawings  of  movement  such  as  those  in  this  volume, 
you  must  understand  that  nearly  all  are  drawn  from 
memory.  You  will  realize,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
that  movement  can  only  be  drawn  from  memory. 
MiUet,  for  instance,  painted  largely  from  memory, 
depending  entirely  on  a  highly-trained  receptiveness  of 
the  eye,  which  enabled  him  to  select  with  absolute  fear- 
lessness and  to  generalize  with  absolute  knowledge. 
His  observation  was  undisturbed  by  the  kaleidoscopic 
shifting  of  the  pictorial  elements  which  bewilder  the 
piecemeal  painter.  Millet,  to  quote  Mr.  Sickert,  "  did 
not  say  to  the  woman  at  the  wash-tub,  '  Do  as  if  you  were 
washing,  and  stay  like  that  for  four  or  live  hours,  while 


I  paint  a  picture  from  you,'  or  to  the  reaper,  '  Stay 
like  that  with  the  scythe  drawn  back,  pretending  to  reap.' 
'  La  Nature  ne  pose  pas,'  to  quote  his  own  words.  He 
knew  that  if  figures  in  movement  were  to  be  painted 
so  as  to  be  convincing,  it  must  be  by  a  process  of 
cumulative  observation." 

That  is  how  Mr.  Luard  has  worked,  and  you  will  find 
in  these  pictures  that  he  is  interested  in  the  beauty  of 
weight  as  well  as  of  energy.  He  realizes  that  in  drawing 
movement  the  artist  will  run  into  excessive  and  empty 
rhythm,  as  is  sometimes  the  case  with  Japanese  art, 
unless  he  expresses  the  downward  thrust,  as  well  as 
the  horizontal  lines  of  motion.  In  drawing  a  plunging 
cart-horse  he  suggests  always  its  weight  as  well  as  its 
movement.  Among  the  painters  whom  he  admires  are 
those  with  the  plastic  sense — Rubens,  Millet,  Daumier. 

I  have  written  in  general  terms  of  the  principles  of 
Mr.  Luard's  work,  because  I  prefer  to  leave  the  separate 
drawings  to  speak  for  themselves.  But  to  show  how 
the  qualities  of  Mr.  Luard's  work  strike  another  observer, 
I  should  like  to  quote  from  a  criticism  by  Sir  Claude 
Phillips,  in  the  Daily  Telegraph,  of  one  of  Mr.  Luard's 
exhibitions  in  London : 

"  An  all-important  quahty  which  Mr.  Luard  possesses 
in  a  high  degree  is  that  of  expressing  at  one  and  the  same 


10 


FOREWORD 


time  momentariness,  dynamic  force  at  its  highest,  and 
soHdity,  weightiness,  permanence.  Mr.  Luard's  great 
triumph  is  in  his  black-and-white  drawings  and  pastel 
studies  of  cart-horses  in  violent  action.  With  delight 
in  their  power  and  his,  he  renders  these  great  splendid 
beasts  of  burden,  momentarily  rebellious  against  the 
domination  of  man,  rearing,  plunging,  threatening — in 
their  might  the  Titans  of  the  fields — yet  soon  to  be 
brought  into  line  again  by  the  whip  and  voice  of  the 
conqueror.  The  men  and  the  beasts  are  obviously 
French,  and  studied  in  France,  but  the  treatment  is 
quite  original  and  of  singular  power.  We  are  not  able 
for  the  moment  to  cite  any  modern  artist  who  with  such 
tremendous  force,  and  withal  such  accuracy,  has  de- 
lineated horses  of  this  type  in  moments  of  fury  and  terror, 
when  individual  struggle  takes  the  place  of  combined 
and  harmonious  labour.  .  .  .  Truly  a  Millet  in  action — 
a  Millet  to  which  an  electric  battery  has  been  applied." 
Though  this  volume  deals  primarily  with  movement 
as  a  leading  aspect  of  Mr.  Luard's  art,  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  his  work  has  qualities  of  tone  and  colour 
that  must  not  be  overlooked.  Though  most  of  the  repro- 
ductions are  from  drawings  in  monochrome,  several  are 
from  paintings  ;  and  while  movement  is  the  keynote  of 
the    pictures    reproduced,    they    also    possess    sterling 


qualities  that  depend  on  sensitiveness  of  colour  vision. 
One  may  note  in  this  connexion  the  feeling  of  space  and 
air  that  surrounds  the  horses  and  figures  in  "  Ploughing," 
"  Tournant  le  Tombereau  "  and  "  Horses  at  Water  "  ; 
and  the  sense  of  Notan,  as  the  Japanese  call  the  use  of 
dark  and  light  pattern  for  emotional  effect,  which  is 
so  effectively  used  in  "  On  the  top  of  the  Bank  "  and 
"  Between  the  Stages."  Here,  and  elsewhere,  Mr.  Luard's 
colour  is  quiet  and  good  ;  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  he 
sees  and  uses  it  mostly  in  quiet  scenes.  This  is  perhaps 
due  to  the  fact  that  in  Paris  and  in  England  colour 
very  rarely  rises  to  an  emphasis  and  violence  which  is 
sympathetic  and  helpful  to  the  expression  of  vigorous 
movement. 

This  volume  is  intended  largely  for  the  student,  and 
on  that  account  I  feel  constrained  to  utter  a  word  of 
warning.  These  drawings,  sometimes  so  slight,  are 
seemingly  so  spontaneous  and  inevitable — so  easy  and 
rapid  in  execution — that  the  young  student  may  think 
that  he  can  begin  where  they  end.  Looking  at  one  of 
them  he  may  say  that  it  took  five  minutes  or  less  to 
make,  but  Mr.  Luard  would  have  the  right  to  reply,  like 
a  distinguished  predecessor,  "  It  took  me  a  lifetime." 
The  lesson  to  the  student  should  be  that  he  must  look 
and  look  and  look,   training  his  memory,   and  storing 


FOREWORD 


II 


knowledge,  just  as  electrical  power  is  generated  and 
stored.  Turner  is  perhaps  the  great  instance  of  this 
memorizing  power.  He  has  been  proved  to  have  incor- 
porated from  memory  in  his  later  pictures  facts  of  nature 
used  and  recorded  by  him  in  drawings  that  he  had  made 
twenty  years  before  and  never  seen  again.  And  so  the 
student  who  is  drawmg,  say,  a  moving  horse  must  seek, 
unconsciously,  in  the  stores  of  his  memory,  and  must  be 
able  without  further  thinking — when  seeing  a  new  move- 
ment he  has  no  time  to  think — to  set  down  the  turn  of 
knee  or  pastern,  the  twist  or  tautness  of  a  muscle.  Do 
not  run  away  with  the  idea  that  no  drudgery  is  needed 
too  as  grammar,  or  that  Mr.  Luard  is  unable  to  draw 
with  untiring  precision  as  well  as  untiring  observation. 
He  has  a  whole  volume,  which  I  have  seen,  embodying 


his  own  studies  of  anatomy  and  recording  not  only  most 
precise  details  of  bone,  muscle  and  sinew,  but  the  sheer 
mechanics  of  their  pull  and  play.  Without  this  also 
these  drawings  could  never  have  been  made.  The 
importance  of  study,  of  memory,  and  of  knowledge, 
which  is  memory  stored,  is  so  great,  particularly  where 
movement  is  concerned,  that  I  should  like  to  close  with 
a  quotation  from  Mr.  Clausen's  "  Lectures  on  Painting." 
"  Some  years  ago,"  he  writes,  "  that  great  artist, 
Mr.  Watts,  was  good  enough  to  give  me  some  advice. 
I  was  speaking  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  something  I 
was  trying  to  do,  because  I  could  not  get  a  model  to 
pose,  and  I  said,  '  Of  course,  one  has  to  rely  on  memory.' 
'  Yes,'  he  said,  '  memory  is  a  good  thing,  but  there's  a 
better.      I  asked  what  that  was.     '  Knowledge,'  he  said." 

Martin  Hardie. 


ARTIST'S    NOTE 

The  pictures  in  this  book  were  in  no  sense  done  as 
illustrations  to  the  text.  They  were  selected  from  the 
drawings^and  paintings  of  recent  years,  when  the  pub- 
lishers proposed  to  issue  a  book  of  reproductions  of  my 
work.  The  Note  on  the  Drawing  of  Movement  was 
written  subsequently  at  their  special  request. 

Any  theories  advanced  in  it  are  derived  empirically 
from  practice,  and  have  never  been  allowed  consciously 
to  interfere  with  feeling  and  instinct  in  production. 

It  is  the  outcome  of  the  musings  of  an  artist  and 

is  meant  for  those  who  are  interested. 

L.  D.  L. 


A  NOTE  ON  THE   DRAWING  OF  MOVEMENT 


ANYONE  who  has  watched  a  greyhound  running 
/Jm  must  feel  that  the  undulations  of  the  animal, 
^  .m.  with  their  rhythmic  series  and  culminating 
accents,  are  comparable  to  the  run  and  rhythm  of  an 
air  in  music,  whereas  a  momentary  phase  of  the 
movement,  such  as  is  recorded  in  an  instantaneous 
photograph,  resembles  a  detached  chord,  and,  like  it, 
has  little  meaning  out  of  its  context. 

Why  is  it  that  the  instantaneous  photograph  almost 
invariably  fails  to  capture  any  of  this  rhythmic  sensa- 
tion, or  to  recreate  enjoyment  such  as  is  experienced  in 
watching  the  greyhound  run,  whereas  certain  pictures 
successfully  do  so  ? 

Is  it  not  because  our  sense  of  movement  is  a  subjec- 
tive impression  with  which  consequently  the  artist  alone 
can  deal  ? 

While  most  people  enjoy  watching,  shall  we  say, 
dancing,  very  few  of  them  seem  truly  to  be  conscious  of 
the  source  of  their  enjoyment.  The  majority  appear  to 
be  unaware  that   their  pleasure   lies   in   following   the 


visible  music  of  motion,  not  in  observing  the  dancers, 
who  are  only  the  instruments  by  which  it  is  performed. 
As  a  result  they  are  willing  to  accept  as  a  picture  of 
dancing  a  Hfeless  picture  of  dancers,  which  no  more 
recalls  the  rhythms  that  were  the  essence  of  their  plea- 
sure than  a  picture  of  a  violinist  with  his  bow  upon  the 
strings  revives  the  sounds  that  he  was  making. 

How  then  is  the  artist  to  capture  this  emanation,  at 
once  so  real  and  so  transitory  ? 


Perception  of  movement  is  the  result  of  combining 
mentally  a  series  of  separate  impressions. 

In  consequence  our  perception  of  movement  is  a 
subjective  impression,  so  that  in  making  a  drawing  of  a 
moving  figure  or  object  there  can  be  no  question  of 
copying  the  movement,  no  question  of  accuracy  in 
the  ordinary  sense  in  which  it  is  appUed  to  the 
drawing  of  objects  at  rest.  This  is  a  point  of  capital 
importance,    although     apparently     very     few    people, 


13 


14 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


even   of  those  really  interested  in  Art,   have   troubled 
to  consider  it. 

Movement   implies   change,    and   our   perception   of 
movement  depends  upon  noting  and  comparing  changes 


of  shape,  tone  or  colour  in  a  series  of  visual  impressions, 
just  as  our  sense  of  music  depends  upon  the  com- 
parison of  a  series  of  momentary  sounds. 

If  sensation  did  not  endure  after  the  stimulus  that 
created  it  has  ceased,  we  should  be  incapable  of  per- 
ceiving change,  and  we  should  be  sensible  only  of  the 


impression  of  the  actual  moment,  disconnected  from 
all  that  comes  before  or  after,  seeing,  like  the  photo- 
graphic plate,  only  the  separate  attitudes  of  which  the 
movement  is  composed,  and  never  receiving  the 
generalized  impression  which  means  seeing  movement. 

Our  perception  of  movement,  then,  is  created  by  an 
act  of  recollection  and  is  dependent  on  memory.  Con- 
sequently it  can  only  be  drawn  from  recollection. 

In  this  the  drawing  of  movement  differs  essentially 
from  other  forms  of  memory  work.  Artists,  of  course, 
constantly  work  from  memory  when  dealing  with  fugitive 
effects  of  light,  colour,  grouping.  They  do  so  because 
such  effects,  though  stationary,  are  of  such  brief  duration 
that  they  do  not  allow  sufficient  time  in  which  to  record 
them  on  the  spot.  A  group  of  figures,  for  instance,  if 
only  it  would  remain  unaltered  for  a  considerable  length 
of  time,  could  be  painted  directly,  as  the  still-life  painter 
paints  his  subjects,  but  the  artist  knows  from  experience 
that  the  group  may  at  any  moment  be  broken  up  by 
the  movement  of  the  individuals  that  compose  it,  so 
that  he  may  think  it  wiser,  instead  of  spending  any  of 
the  precious  seconds  on  the  act  of  drawing,  to  devote 
them  all  to  observing  and  storing  up  an  impression  from 
which  he  can  work  later. 

In  such  a  case,  to  work  from  memory  is  merely  the 


A  NOTE   ON   THE   DRAWING    OF  MOVEMENT 


15 


/.v 


most  practical  way  of  working,  whereas  in  the  case  of 
drawing  movement  the  artist  must  work  from  memory, 
because  he  has  no  choice.  For  the  movement  which 
was  the  subject  that  roused  his  interest  is  only  perceived 
as  an  idea  formed  in  his  mind  out  of  impressions  of 
phenomena  which  have  already  disappeared  ;  just  as 
the  idea  of  an  air  in  music  is  formed  of  impressions  pre- 
served of  sounds  that  are  no  longer  heard.  His  subject, 
then,  is  not  like  a  fugitive  effect,  which,  however  short 
its  duration,  is  in  principle  stationary,  being  formed 
of  parts  simultaneously  present,  and  so  simultaneously 
to  be  observed.  For  his  subject  is  an  idea  formed 
of  impressions   of  successive   phases   which   cannot   be 


received  simultaneously,  and  consequently  can  only  be 
combined  through  recollection. 

Instantaneous  photography  is  to  many  people  a 
great  obstacle  to  the  proper  understanding  of  how  we 
perceive  movement  and  what  is  involved  in  expressing 
it.  The  camera  analyses  and  records  for  us  passing 
phases  of  action  which  the  eye  cannot  perceive,  but 
which  can  be  proved  to  occur  ;  and  being  an  unemo- 
tional machine  free  from  the  frailties  of  excitable  human 
beings  such  as  artists,  in  general  opinion  it  "  cannot 
lie."  Many  people  therefore  prefer  what  the  camera 
offers  them  to  what  they  are  offered  by  their  own  senses, 
and  in  time  even  come  to  beheve  that  they  ought  to  see 


i6 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


as  the  camera  sees.  This  is  manifestly  wrong,  for,  as 
has  already  been  said,  the  camera  cannot  record  move- 
ment. It  never  sees  it.  It  arrests  the  effect  of  a 
moment,  selecting  instantaneous  aspects  only,  thus  pro- 
ducing a  stationary  condition  which  is  the  negation  of 
movement  itself. 

"  But  photography  does  produce  a  vivid  sense  of 
movement,"  the  reader  will  perhaps  exclaim.  "  Look 
at  the  cinematograph  !  "  Exactly— the  cinematograph 
is  the  best  proof  of  the  camera's  incapacity.  For  since 
a  single  photograph  cannot,  like  a  drawing,  express  move- 
ment of  itself,  the  cinematograph  is  compelled  to  use 
them  by  hundreds,  projecting  their  images  in  rapid 
sequence  on  the  screen  so  that  the  eye  may  actually 
follow  their  variations  across  its  surface  through  a  period 
of  time.  The  cinematograph  does  not  attempt  to 
summarize  impressions  of  movement  as  the  artist  must. 
It  expresses  like  by  like,  creating  a  fresh  series  of  vary- 
ing impressions  which  are  reminiscent  of  the  original 
impressions  of  the  living  scene  from  which  the  films  were 
taken,  reviving  in  their  sequence  the  actual  rhythms, 
obscurities,  indefiniteness,  distortions  and  emphasis  of 
certain  things  which  we  should  have  seen  for  ourselves 
in  nature.  For  if  properly  controlled  it  hides  the 
camera's    records    of    the    stiff    momentary    attitudes 


invisible  to  us  through  which  the  limbs  of  the  dancer 
or  the  greyhound  pass,  by  merging  them  in  the  graceful 
rhythms  which  result  therefrom,  just  as  in  nature  the 
actual  attitudes  are  hidden  in  the  grace  of  the  dancer 
and  the  greyhound. 

Art  cannot  use  movement  to  represent  movement. 
It  has  to  render  it  in  the  fixed  and  unchanging  materials 
in  which  the  painter  or  the  sculptor  works,  and  in  which 
indeed  hes  his  strength.  For  the  artist's  purpose  is  not 
to  reconstruct  nature,  but  to  communicate  his  own  emo- 
tion and  interest  to  others,  whether  his  art  be  real- 
istic and  imitative  or  an  abstraction  not  recognizably 
connected  with  natural  appearance. 

If  it  is  the  representation  of  movement  that  the 
artist  attempts,  his  task  at  first  sight  appears  similar 
to  the  summing-up  of  an  air  in  music  in  a  single  chord. 
This  comparison  is  hardly  fair,  however,  for  the  eye  of  the 
spectator  who  is  looking  at  a  work  of  art  does  not  em- 
brace the  whole  at  once,  staring  fixedly  at  one  central 
point,  but  travels  about  its  surface,  so  that  the  artist  has 
a  considerable  area  at  his  disposal  over  which  he  can 
lead  the  spectator's  eye  in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce 
the  desired  effect  upon  him.  The  quotation  from  Rodin, 
given  further  on,  in  which  he  explains  how  the  eye  is  led 
across  his  statue  is  a  good  instance  of  this  principle. 


i8 


HORSES  AND  MOVEMENT 


Movement  is  primarily  perceived  as  direction.  Picture 
to  yourself  a  wet  day,  and  instinctively  you  will  represent 
the  falling  rain  as  making  lines  across  the  landscape. 
In  an  instantaneous  photograph  of  such  a  scene  the  fore- 
ground raindrops,  if  sufficiently  distinct,  would  be  shown 
as  separate  drops  dotted  about  upon  it.     Which  is  the 
more     satisfactory    representation  ?     Which   gives    the 
"  truth  "  ?     Which  brings  about  in  the  mind  of  the  spec- 
tator the  necessary  optical  condition  ?     The  answer  is 
without  doubt :    and  it  is  an  answer  endorsed  by  the 
cinematograph,  which  would  be  unable  to  show  us  move- 
ment if  it  did  not  restore  such  generahzed  impressions 
which  are  not  to  be  found  in  its  separate  photographs. 
The  lines  of  falling  rain  illustrate  a  principle  that 
affects  all  our  perception  of  movement.     If  we  return 
for  a  moment  to  the  definition  of  our  perception  of  move- 
ment as  a  perception  of  change— of  change  of  position 
(change  of  shape  is  merely  change  of  position  of  com- 
ponent parts)— we  shall  agree,  I  think,  that  there  can 
be  no  impression  of  movement  which  does  not  imply 
a  perception  of  its  direction.     And  direction  can  be  best 
expressed  diagrammatically  by  a  line  or  lines.     What, 
in  fact,  are  the  lines  of  falling  rain  but  nature's  dia- 
grams, the  paths  of  the  raindrops  traced  by  faint  images 
of  themselves  ? 


But  there  is  something  more  involved  than  mere 
movement  and  direction.  Whatever  instances  we  take — 
the  curves  of  a  swallow's  flight,  the  appearance  of  a  circle 
created  by  a  thing  whirled  rapidly  about  a  centre,  the 
undulations  of  the  coursing  greyhound,  the  movements 
of  a  group  of  dancers,  the  effort  of  a  cart-horse — we  find 
in  each  of  them  the  same  principle,  that  all  movement  is 
not  only  perceived  more  or  less  distinctly  by  its  lines  of 
direction,  but  also  nearly  always  gives  rise  to  rhythm. 

Consequently  if  the  artist  is  to  create  in  the  mind 
of  the  observer  the  desired  optical  condition  he  must 
succeed  in  reviving  and  conveying  to  him  his  impressions 
of  the  original  rhythm.  Throughout  all  art  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  motion  is  in  fact  expressed  in  this  way, 
through  the  designing  of  patterns  such  that  the  eye  of 
the  spectator  will  travel  across  them  slowly  or  rapidly, 
regularly  or  variably,  continuously  or  interruptedly,  as 
the  artist  intends,  and  as  he  feels  the  expression  of  the 
particular  effect  or  emotion  requires. 

Such  patterns  can  be  so  irregular  and  so  interrupted 
that  it  may  seem  hardly  fair  to  call  them  rhythmic. 
But  I  think  we  may  again  turn  to  music  for  comparison. 
For  in  music  the  movement  of  a  piece  may  also  be  so 
irregular  and  interrupted  that  the  word  rhythmic  is 
hardly  to  be  applied  to  it.     Yet  in  both  cases  if  there  is 


A  NOTE   ON   THE   DRAWING    OF  MOVEMENT 


19 


not  to  be  a  complete  disconnexion  of  parts,  there  must 
be  a  sense  of  continuity  which  carries  across  the  inter- 
ruptions and  re-estabhshes  the  rhythmic  principle. 

The  comparison  may  be  challenged  on  the  grounds 
that  the  rhythm  of  music  occurs  in  time,  which  it  may  be 
said  does  not  find  a  place  in  looking  at  a  work  of  art, 
of  which  the  whole  is  seen  simultaneously.  Such  an 
argument  is  based  on  a  misunderstanding  of  how  pic- 
tures and  statues  are  really  seen.  Even  a  general 
impression  of  a  picture  is  only  received  by  a  survey, 
however  rapid.  And  really  to  see  and  grasp  all  that 
is  in  a  great  picture  is  a  task  equivalent  to  grasping  all 
that  there  is  in  a  great  play.  The  mere  act  of  running 
the  eye  along  any  of  the  innumerable  paths  of  a 
picture  involves  an  expenditure  of  time,  however 
brief,  which  shows  that  the  sense  of  rhythm  conveyed 
by  works  of  art  is  as  truly  dependent  upon  time  as  is 
the  rhythm  of  a  piece  of  music. 

Motion  which  does  not  give  rise  to  rhythmic  impres- 
sions seems  to  be  beyond  the  essential  powers  of  art  to 
express,  and  the  occurrence  of  such  motion  can  only  be 
suggested  by  the  representation  of  certain  phenomena  from 
which  it  can  be  deduced  by  a  process  of  reasoning. 
A  railway  train  at  speed  shows  no  changes  of  shape,  and 
creates  no  rhythmic  impressions,  thus  giving  to  the  artist 


no  means  of  appealing  to  the  spectator's  natural  response 
to  rhythmic  suggestion.  He  may  blur  the  spokes,  and 
from  such  an  indication  the  spectator  may  reason  that 
the  train  is  in  motion  ;  but  he  does  not  feel  it.  Allow 
the  artist,  however,  to  build  a  pattern  about  it,  of  trailing 
steam,  flapping  window  blind,  and  whirling  paper  picked 
up  from  the  track,  or  still  less  connected  with  the  train's 
motion  let  him  throw  a  rhythmic  pattern  of  tree-shadows 
upon  train  and  embankment,  and  he  can  produce  a 
feeling  of  swift  movement  in  the  picture,  despite  the. 
train's  own  inexpressive  rigidity. 

The  representation  of  phases  and  phenomena  asso- 
ciated with  our  perception  of  movement  in  nature  such, 
for  instance,  as  indistinctness,  confusion,  apparent  de- 
formation, though  it  may  intensify  and  complete  the 
effect  created  by  the  fundamental  rhythms,  is  always 
subordinate  to  them.  For  while  a  mere  pattern  dis- 
sociated from  all  idea  of  nature,  and  all  representation 
of  objects,  can  produce  an  effect  of  motion  to  the  eye, 
a  figure  represented  in  a  picture,  however  clearly  it  is 
shown  to  be  in  action,  will  produce  no  such  effect  if  it 
does  not  make  a  pattern  or  form  part  of  a  pattern  which 
is  rhythmic  in  itself  ;  and  this,  as  has  been  already 
pointed  out,  the  arrested  attitude  of  a  figure  as  recorded 
by  an  instantaneous  photograph  hardly  ever  does. 


ao 


HORSES  AND  MOVEMENT 


There  is  a  picture  by  a  well-known  artist  which  illus- 
trates the  point  exactly.  The  subject  is  a  group  of  figures 
dragging  a  heavy  load.  Their  attitudes,  however,  com- 
bine into  a  pattern  of  which  the  rhythmic  flow  is  back- 
wards in  opposition  to  the  intended  forward  motion. 
As  a  result  there  is  created  in  the  mind  of  anyone  who  is 
sensitive  to  rhythmic  design,  a  strong  impression  that  they 
are  moving  backwards,  despite  their  attitudes.  One  can 
reason  that  they  should  be  advancing,  one  feels  the 
contrary.     Such  a  contradiction  makes  nonsense  and  is 


/^ 


untrue  to  what  we  see,  for  in  nature,  where  things  actually 
move,  it  could  not  possibly  occur. 

Whistler  on  a  certain  occasion,  after  studying  deeply 
the  border  of  a  Japanese  mat,  exclaimed  that  its  design 
had  revealed  to  him  how  to  express  motion  by  pattern. 
Although,  when  a  movement  is  so  regular  as  to  be  ex- 
pressed diagrammatically  as  a  straight  line  or  a  circle, 
there  is  nothing  in  such  lines  to  suggest  that  there  is 
flow  in  either  direction,  yet  patterns  can  be  so  designed 
that  the  spectator's  eye  is  irresistibly  led  across  them  in 
the  intended  direction  and  at  the  intended 
speed.  When  inventing  such  patterns  the  artist 
resembles  the  author,  who  so  constructs  his 
passages  that  he  compels  the  reader  to  read  them 
fast  or  slowly,  smoothly  or  abruptly,  according 
to  the  particular  feeling  he  wishes  to  arouse. 
Good  illustrations  of  this  principle  are  to  be 
met  with  everywhere,  for  instance  in  the  orna- 
mental borders  of  books,  or  ancient  Chinese 
bas-reliefs,  where  figures,  plants  and  patterns 
flow  into  each  other,  leading  the  eye  along  the 
mere  patterns  with  the  same  sense  of  motion 
that  it  feels  in  looking  at  the  running  figures. 
Or  test  the  effect  of  pattern  by  taking  some 
turbulent   picture   by   Rubens   or   Goya,   or   a 


A  NOTE   ON   THE  DRAWING   OF  MOVEMENT 


21 


quieter  subject  by  Botticelli  or  Watteau,  and  looking 
at  them  upside  down.  You  will  soon  see  if  the 
rhythms  are  expressive.  For  by  so  doing  you  will 
be  less  able  to  see  what  the  figures  are  about,  or  to 
reason  out  the  action  of  the  picture,  and  you  wiU  be 
more  directly  affected  by  the  design,  so  as  readily 
to  detect  the  shortcomings  of  the  group  of  pulling 
figures  in  the  picture  first  instanced,  and  to  enjoy  more 
consciously  and  fully  the  effect  of  great  work.  To  take 
two  pictures  by  Rubens,  you  wiU  notice  how  in  the 
"  Country  Dance  "  in  the  Prado  Gallery  the  background 
contributes  to  the  action  of  the  figures,  how  the  trees  and 
landscape  forms  dance  and  turn  in  sympathy  with  the 
group  of  dancers,  and  how  in  his  "  Lion  Hunt  "  at 
Munich  the  shapes  made  by  the  shields,  plumes,  horses' 
tails  and  all  add  to  the  savageness  of  the  struggle. 

You  may  also  notice  in  his  more  violent  pictures  how 
little  the  parts  are  allowed  to  hold  your  attention  :  that 
though  the  details  of  the  heads  and  other  parts  are  to  be 
found,  if  you  look  for  them,  they  are  skilfully  subor- 
dinated so  as  not  to  arrest  your  eye  for  long  from  follow- 
ing the  swirling  pattern.  Is  not  this  again  a  truth 
to  nature  ?  For  when  looking  on  at  such  a  scene  we 
should  be  watching  the  action,  not  noticing  details 
of  the  actors. 


How  far  the  underlying  basic  rhythms  of  such  pic- 
tures resemble  nature's  rhythms  it  would  be  difficult 
to  determine.  Yet  we  are  often  struck  by  the  vividness 
and  exactness  with  which  some  hvely  sketch  recalls  a 
natural  movement. 

Artists  must  vary  as  much  in  their  perception  of 
movement  as  they  do  in  that  of  colour,  tone  or  form. 
Some  must  have  quicker  eyes  than  others.  The  normal 
eye  requires,  I  think,  fourteen  films  to  the  second  in  the 
cinematograph  if  it  is  not  to  notice  any  interruption  in 
the  continuity  of  the  picture  on  the  screen,  though  the 
required  number  varies  with  the  intensity  of  the  light. 
Both  quick  and  slow  eyes  see  no  doubt  beauty  and 
interest  invisible  to  each  other.  Every  artist,  then,  has  a 
different  problem,  and  must  discover  for  himself  how  to 
convey  liis  impression.  He  must  rely  upon  his  own  first- 
hand observation  interfered  with  as  Uttle  as  possible  by 
the  vision  of  others,  or  the  vision  of  the  camera. 

The  following  quotation  from  a  conversation  with 
Rodin,  given  in  "  L'Art  "  by  Gsell,  bears  directly  upon 
this  question  of  how  the  observer's  eye  is  led  about  a 
work  of  art,  and  shows  how  admittedly  conscious  an 
artist  can  be  of  the  influence  of  such  principles  in  his  own 
work.  "  It  is  possible,"  said  Rodin,  "  for  a  sculptor  to 
create  the  illusion  that  the  muscles  of  his  statues  really 


22 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


move  by  not  representing  every  part  of  the  figure  at  the 
same  instant  of  time.  ...  In  the  statue  before  you,  for 
instance,  the  legs,  the  hips,  the  body,  the  head,  the  arms 
are  given,  not  at  the  same  moment,  but  at  intervals  of 
moments.  I  am  applying  no  theory  here,  I  am  following 
an  instinct  which  leads  me  to  express  movement  in  this 
way.  As  a  result,  when  the  spectator  sweeps  his  eyes  from 
one  end  of  my  statues  to  the  other,  he  sees  their  gestures 
grow.  He  follows  the  muscular  effort  across  the  different 
sections  of  the  figure  from  its  slow  inception  to  where  it 
culminates." 

We  may  notice  particularly  that  Rodin  declares 
that  such  a  method  is  instinctive,  although  he  is  able 
to  analyse  the  cause  of  his  success  in  rendering  the 
movement. 

Rodin  insisted  very  strongly  upon  the  necessity  of 
studying  the  model  in  motion.  For  whatever  study  is 
made  of  the  posed  model,  it  must  never  be  allowed  to 
supplant  or  to  obscure  the  impression  derived  from  the 
moving  figure.  He  used  to  point  out  that  the  swing  of 
one  side  of  the  body  is  only  possible  because  of  the  move- 
ment of  the  other  side.  It  is  the  observation  of  this 
principle,  he  declared,  which  makes  his  St.  John  walking 
and  not  posing.  It  is  impossible  for  a  model  to  "  take 
the  pose  "  of  a  man  walking,  quiet  as  the  movement  is. 


The  forward  inclination  of  the  body  of  a  man  running 
cannot  be  imitated  by  a  posed  model.  For  in  running 
the  impetus  is  in  itself  a  support  to  the  body.  He  used 
as  an  obvious  illustration  of  the  falseness  of  the  "  posing 
of  a  movement  "  the  case  of  a  man  hammering.  So 
long  as  he  holds  the  hammer  in  "  the  pose  "  he  is  contra- 
dicting the  sense  of  it  all.  He  is  contracting  the  muscles 
which  prevent  the  arm  and  hammer  falling,  and  relaxing 
those  which  should  be  pulling  it  down. 

Truisms  ?  Yes,  but  truisms  too  often  neglected  in 
art  because  obscured  or  lost  in  the  exclusive,  or  almost 
exclusive,  study  of  the  posing  model.  Yet  we  all  know 
that  if  we  receive  a  violent  push  on  the  shoulder  we 
inevitably  slew  round,  because  one  side  of  us  is,  so  to  speak, 
walking  forward  more  rapidly  than  the  other.  The 
model  posing  is  as  true  an  example  of  this  law  of  the 
interdependence  of  parts  as  a  man  in  action.  For  it  is 
only  by  keeping  the  right  side  of  his  body  still  that  he 
can  keep  his  left  side  unmoved  also. 

If  an  artist  is  content  to  accept  the  pose  of  the  model 
as  a  substitute  for  the  observation  of  natural  movement, 
the  better  he  draws  the  more  completely  will  he  defeat 
himself — for  the  better  he  draws  the  more  perfectly 
does  he  express  the  model's  immobility. 

Rodin's  analysis  of  how  the  impression  of  movement 


A  NOTE   ON   THE   DRAWING   OF  MOVEMENT 


23 


in  his  statues  is  created  is,  I  am  afraid,  not  much  of  a 
working  rule,  applied  as  such.  Is  it  not  rather  one  of 
the  rules  to  which  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  refers  in  his 
Sixth  Discourse  ?  "  The  rules  by  which  men  of  extra- 
ordinary parts,  and  such  as  are  called  men  of  Genius, 
work,  are  either  such  as  they  discover  by  their  own 
peculiar  observations,  or  are  of  such  a  nice  texture  as 
not  easily  to  admit  being  expressed  in  words  .  .  .  Un- 
substantial, however,  as  these  rules  may  seem,  and  difficult 
as  it  may  be  to  convey  them  in  writing,  they  are  still 
seen  and  felt  in  the  mind  of  the  artist  ;  and  he  works 
from  them  with  as  much  certainty  as  if  they  were  em- 
bodied, as  I  may  say,  upon  paper.  It  is  true,  these 
refined  principles  cannot  be  always  made  palpable,  like 
the  more  gross  rules  of  art ;  yet  it  does  not  follow,  but 
that  the  mind  may  be  put  in  such  a  train  that  it  shall 
perceive,  by  a  kind  of  scientific  sense,  that  propriety 
which  words,  particularly  words  of  unpractised  writers, 
such  as  we  are,  can  but  very  feebly  suggest." 

What,  then,  can  we  discover  "  by  a  kind  of  scientific 
sense  "  from  Rodin  ?  Confidently  to  give  play,  I  think, 
to  our  instinctive  preferences  when  in  front  of  nature, 
allowing  her  to  disclose  to  us  what  she  will,  and  to  try 
through  the  study  of  successful  effects,  both  our  own 
and  others,  to  discover  the  cause  of  their  effectiveness. 


For  as  Reynolds  saj^s  earlier  in  the  passage  from  which 
I  have  already  quoted,  "  It  must  of  necessity  be,  that 
even  works  of  Genius,  like  every  other  effect,  as  they 
must  have  their  cause,  must  likewise  have  their  rules  : 
it  cannot  be  by  chance  that  excellencies  are  produced 
with  any  constancy  or  any  certainty,  for  this  is  not  the 
nature  of  chance."  The  proper  manner  of  such  inquiry 
is  given  by  Browning  in  a  letter  of  advice  upon  the  work 
of  a  young  poet,  in  which  he  tells  him  to  "study  the 
secret  of  the  effectiveness,  whatever  poetry  does  affect 
him — not  repeating,  or  copying  those  effects — but 
finding  out,  I  mean,  why 
they  prove  to  be  effects, 
and  so  learning  to  become 
similarly  effective." 

I  have  attempted  something 
of  the  sort  in  this  article,  and 
I  hope  that  it  may  help  to  the 
better  understanding  of  the  work 
of  certain  men,  by  showing  that 
there  is  reason  for  and  truth 
in  the  effects  that  they  employ. 
I  think  also  that  our  attempts 
at  analysis  should  encourage  the 
artist.     If  there  is  a  reasonable- 


24 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


ness  behind  the  effects  we  have  been  discussing,  why 
should  there  not  be  an  equal  reasonableness  behind  his 
own  impressions  ?  That  he  can  explain  or  find  a  reason 
for  them  can  be  of  no  importance,  so  long  as  he  can 
"  work  from  them  with  as  much  certainty  as  if  they 
were  embodied  upon  paper."  For  instinct  leads  and 
theory  follows,  as  we  see  in  the  fact  that  the  laws  and 
rules  of  all  arts  are  formulated  upon  the  discoveries  of 
each  new  true  creator. 

To  return,  however,  to  our  impressions  of  nature  ; 
among  the  more  gross  effects  which  we  all  notice  and 
accept  are  the  lines  made  by  the  falling  rain  and  the 
disappearance  of  the  spokes  of  a  rapidly  turning  wheel. 
But  there  are  an  infinite  number  of  less  obvious  effects 
and  changes  of  appearance  associated  with  movement 
in  nature  of  which  certain  artists  mstinctively  make  use, 
especially  modern  artists  since  the  development  of 
impressionistic  realism— such  as  indistinctness,  confusion, 
reduplication  and  even  apparent  deformation. 

We  shall  agree  as  to  the  confusion  and  indistinctness 
due  to  movement  in  nature.  And  in  art  examples  are 
not  hard  to  find.  Millet  in  his  "  Woodman  "  makes  the 
hand  that  swings  the  chopper  less  distinct  than  the  hand 
that  holds  the  faggot.  We  shall  agree,  too,  I  think, 
about  reduplication.     Does  not  a  cane  in  rapid  vibration 


give  a  double  image  through  being  more  distinct  at  either 
limit  of  its  oscillation  ?  Daumier  in  his  "  Mountebank  " 
beating  a  drum  draws  the  drum-sticks  with  double 
tips. 

As  regards  deformation,  there  may  be  some  disagree- 
ment, and  yet  it  is  a  truth  to  nature  that  is  instinctively 
employed  for  expression  in  art.  Difficult  as  it  may  be 
to  realize  it  in  subtler  instances,  if  we  take  the  simple 
case  of  the  appearance  of  a  circle  created  by  an 
object  swung  rapidly  about  a  centre,  we  shall  notice 
that,  as  it  acquires  motion,  it  not  only  becomes  less 
distinct  but  is  also  elongated  in  the  direction  of  its 
flight. 

A  very  noticeable  instance  of  deformation  occurred 
one  evening  at  the  circus,  where  an  acrobat  was  juggling 
with  a  number  of  sticks,  which  he  made  to  turn  rapidly 
over  and  over  as  he  tossed  them  in  the  air.  The  sticks, 
though  straight  in  themselves,  appeared  so  curved  that 
anyone  who  had  not  seen  them  at  rest  before  the  per- 
formance began  would  have  denied  that  they  could  be 
straight.  This  is  but  an  extreme  instance  of  what  often 
appears  in  the  limbs  of  men  and  animals  in  motion. 
Another  instance  was  that  of  a  photograph  of  a  racing 
motor-car.  The  photograph  of  the  motor-car  had  been 
taken  with  a  shutter  that  was  not  rapid  enough  for  such 


A  NOTE   ON   THE   DRAWING   OF  MOVEMENT 


25 


a  subject,  thereby  approaching  the  condition  of  human 
sight.  It  showed  the  rim  and  spokes  of  the  wheels  dis- 
tinct and  exact  where  the  tyres  touched  the  ground, 
but  blurred  and  pulled  forward  at  the  top  where  they 
were  advancing  more  rapidly.* 

The  duty  of  the  spokes,  which  are  the  legs  of  the 
machine,  is  to  thrust  forward  the  axle  to  which  the  car 
is  attached,  just  as  its  foot  and  leg  thrust  forward  the 
horse.  We  are  so  much  inclined  to  watch  the  mass  of 
the  horse  as  it  gallops  that  we  think  of  it  as  swinging 
its  legs  to  and  fro  past  the  indistinct  landscape ;  we  do 
not  observe  the  hoof  stationary  upon  the  ground  pro- 
pelling the  animal  forwards.  Yet  this  is  actually  what 
occurs,  and  such  pauses  in  the  motion  affect  our  impres- 
sions, so  that  as  a  man  or  animal  leaps,  fights  or  dances, 
a  tail,  a  sword,  a  piece  of  drapery,  a  foot,  a  hand  will 


*  Some  reader  may  perhaps  exclaim  "one  part  of  a  wheel  can't  advance  more 

rapidly  than  another  !  "     Rotate  faster,  no  ;  advance,  yes. 

The  diagram  shows  the  positions  of  two  points  on  opposite  sides  of  the  wheel  called 

A'  and  B',  and  the  positions  called  A-  and  B-  which  they  hold  when  the  wheel  has 

made  a  half  rotation.  It  is  clear  that  B', 
by  dipping  to  the  ground  and  rising  again 
to  B^,  has  only  advanced  the  distance 
between  2  and  3  on  the  ground  plan,  while 
A'  travelling  over  the  top  of  the  wheel  to 
A-,  has  advanced  the  whole  distance  from 
I  to  4.  It  would  next  be  A's  turn  to  lag 
and  B's  to  advance  rapidly. 


sometimes  seem  to  hover  or  lag  behind,  even  making 
the  limb  appear  too  long. 

The  artist  in  his  truth  to  his  impression  will  be  led 
insensibly  to  see  and  use  such  accurate  "  inaccuracies  " 
upon  which  the  exact  effect  depends.  For  such  "  in- 
accuracies "  are  but  normal  alterations  of  appearance 
due  to  movement,  which  correspond  in  principle  to  the 
fact  that  colour  is  modified  by  the  colour  that  is  placed 
against  it,  or  that  a  white  flagstaff,  which  looks  light 
against  a  house,  looks  darker  and  thinner  where  it  comes 
against  the  evening  sky  above  it,  and  must  be  so  painted 
to  give  the  effect,  although  we  know  it  to  be  actually  of 
the  same  tone  throughout  its  length.  And  so  it  is  not 
only  for  the  pattern  of  the  picture  that  the  leg  which  is 
too  long  in  Rubens,  the  limb  which  is  deformed  in 
Degas,  are  right,  but  also  in  truth  to  the  natural  appear- 
ance for  those  who  can  see.  Or  to  take  another  instance, 
are  not  trees  at  a  distance  certainly  as  green  of  leaf 
as  those  near  by  ?  Yet  who  would  argue  that  we  ought 
to  paint  them  so,  denying  the  modification  to  blue  due 
to  intervening  atmosphere  ?  And  yet  the  first  distant 
trees  painted  blue  must  have  shocked  the  early  art  patron. 
An  artist  who  is  constantly  watching  and  enjoy- 
ing motion  like  Degas,  to  whom  such  changes  are 
familiar,   and   who   accepts    them    as   part    of   natural 


26 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


appearances  as  simply  as  he  does  the  difference  of  form 
in    a   muscle    at    rest    or    in    action,    will    necessarily 

introduce  them  into  his 
work,  either  so  subtly 
as  to  pass  unperceived 
by  most  people,  or  so 
frankly  as  to  shock 
and  distract  some  spec- 
tators. And  however 
much  he  may  use  the 
posing  model  in  order 
to  acquire  knowledge  of 
form  and  construction, 
he  will  never  substitute 
its  shapes  for  those 
he  had  observed  in 
motion.  Sometimes  one 
sees  a  figure  which  is 
meant  to  express  move- 
ment drawn  with  all 
its  muscles  tense.  The 
model,  not  the  artist 
let  us  hope,  no  doubt 
thought  he  was  showing  the  beauty  of  his  limbs,  and 
did    not    appreciate    that    to    make    the   muscles    on 


opposite  sides  pull  against  each  other  is  to  prevent 
all  movement,  and  is  only  used  in  life  when  we  want 
to  hold  a  limb  absolutely  rigid. 

To  return  to  the  question  of  loss  of  definition  and 
apparent  deformation  of  shape,  it  is  interesting  to  notice 
how  it  can  make  for  beauty.  In  a  scientific  cinemato- 
graph there  was  shown  upon  the  screen  a  bullet  in  the 
act  of  striking  an  egg-shell  dancing  on  a  jet  of  water. 
To  make  it  visible  the  speed  of  nature's  movements  was 
reduced  so  that  the  little  black  bullet  crawled  quietly 
across  the  screen  to  where  the  egg-shell  lifted  slowly  up 
and  down  upon  the  weary  column  of  water.  It  was  very 
curious  to  see  it  deliberately  push  the  egg-shell  over  and 
by  so  doing  disturb  the  water-jet,  which  had  to  make 
two  or  three  laboured  efforts  to  recover  itself.  But 
from  our  point  of  view  the  interesting  effect  was  the 
appearance  of  the  drops  of  water.  They  were  not  the 
gay  sparkling  jewels  we  all  admire.  They  were  repulsive 
protoplasmic  viscous-looking  things,  slowly  changing 
from  one  ugly  shape  to  another  as  they  sank  through 
the  air.  Is  not  the  visual  world  then  partly  dependent 
for  its  beauty  on  its  speed  ?  Are  not  the  drops  of  water 
rather  like  discords  in  music,  pleasant  to  look  upon,  as 
the  others  are  to  hear,  when  passing  at  their  proper  pace  ? 

Since  art  is  art  and  not  nature,  is  there  not  a  certain 


A   NOTE   ON   THE   DRAINING   OF  MOVEMENT 


27 


measure  to  be  observed  in  what  is  represented  ?  There 
are  many  optical  effects  which  are  not  satisfactory  when 
presented  persistently,  as  they  are  in  a  work  of  art.  The 
head  of  a  dog  as  it  shakes  itself  on  coming  out  of  the 
water  leaves  a  confused  blur  upon  the  eye  that  is  too 
transient  in  nature  to  be  satisfactory  in  a  picture,  and 
yet  it  is  not  very  different  from  the  distorted  and  ever- 
varying  images  of  objects  reflected  in  undulating  water, 
which  are  quite  acceptable  when  represented  in  a  picture. 
Is  it  upon  the  effect  being  sufficiently  persistent  that  the 
question  turns — that  the  disappearance  of  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel  from  taking  place  about  a  centre  has,  like  the 
reflections  in  water,  a  certain  constant  character  which 
makes  the  representation  of  a  wheel  without  spokes 
quite  satisfactory  ? 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  in  connexion  with  the 
means  of  expression  the  difference  of  principle  in  the 
composition  of  pictures  of  movement  and  pictures  of 
repose.  In  pictures  expressive  of  repose  the  dominant 
principle  of  composition  is  a  structure  of  verticals  and 
horizontals,  in  a  picture  expressive  of  movement  the 
composition  is  diagonal. 

To  take  a  few  clear  instances  from  pictures  in  the 
National  and  Tate  Galleries.  Horizontal  and  vertical  are 
the  principle  of  Turner's  "  Chichester  Canal,"  varied  with 


a  few  gentle  curves,  of  De  Hooch's  "  Interior,"  of  Crome's 
"Household  Heath"  which  is  divided  into  two  almost 
equal  spaces  of  moorland  and  sky  by  a  straight  horizontal 
line,  relieved  by  the  cart  tracks  and  a  slight  movement  of 
the  clouds.  For  contrast  look  at  these  three  turbulent 
pieces — Turner's  "Shipwreck,"  Rubens'  "Rape  of  the 
Sabines"  and  Tintoret's  "  Milky  Way." 


28 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


^'  '^^'>    ^"r-   V    ^"^ 


Ac  fhro^^ 


Rough  diagrams  are  given  of  these  six  pictures  for 
those  who  cannot  refer  to  the  originals.  The  hght  and 
shade  is  left  out  and  the  emphatic  parts  of  the  pattern 
are  translated  into  line. 

They  do  not  claim  to  be  accurate,  being  only  rapid 
sketches  from  small  reproductions,  yet  they  make,  I 
think,  the  characteristic  difference  of  the  two  groups 
sufficiently  evident. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  it  was  suggested  that 
he  should  look  at  certain  pictures  upside  down  in  order 
to  observe  the  pattern  for  itself.     Some  of  these  dia- 


grams— he  will  easily  detect  which — are  reproduced 
upside  down  the  better  to  illustrate  the  principle  of 
effect  inherent  in  mere  pattern. 

Such  differences  are  fundamental  and  are  true  to 
nature,  being  based  upon  what  we  see  and  experience 
every  day.  To  test  the  visible  repose  of  vertical  and 
horizontal  in  nature  tilt  the  picture  frames  and  notice 
the  restless  effect  that  is  immediately  produced.  You 
can't  stand  at  an  angle,  nor  can  you  push  or  pull  as  long 
as  you  remain  upright.  To  push  a  thing  you  must  lean 
towards  it,  else  the  thrust  of  your  arms  will  push  you 


A    NOTE    ON    THE    DRAWING    OF  MOVEMENT 


29 


over ;  and  when  you  run  you  must  incline  your  body 
forwards,  or  your  legs  will  outrun  your  body  and  you  will 
fall  upon  your  back. 

The  horse  leans  forward  into  his  collar,  and  back 
into  his  breeching ;  the  driver  leans  against  the  cart  to 
help  it  up  the  hill.  In  principle,  walking,  running, 
pushing  are  partly  falling,  and,  as  such,  are  inclined 
between  the  vertical  and  horizontal,  the  habitual 
positions  of  repose ;  and  the  artist,  following  nature, 
instinctively  uses  in  pictures  of  motion  patterns  that 
are  neither  upright  nor  prone. 

If  in  discussing  movement  I  have  confined  myself 
practically  to  discussing  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  line 


patterns  it  is  because  rhythm,  which  is  the  essence  of 
all  movement,  imphes  direction,  and  of  direction  the 
simplest  expression  is  line. 

Spacing,  tone,  colour,  handling  and  other  qualities 
have,  of  course,  their  place  in  heightening  the  effect  of 
movement.  There  must  be  a  sympathy  between  them 
and  the  rhythmic  pattern  of  the  picture.  In  the  Tin- 
toret,  the  Rubens,  the  "  Shipwreck,"  there  are  sharp  con- 
trasts of  tone  and  colour  which  would  be  out  of  character 
in  the  three  quiet  pictures.  Is  there  not  m  this  a  consis- 
tency true  to  nature  ? 

When  we  watch  a  scene  of  rapid  movement  or 
vigorous  action  only  the  stronger  variations  of  tone  and 


l 


^l^M^lLA,     • 


■p.u^^*^ 


Tui{A<yuX^- 


30 


HORSES  AND   MOVEMENT 


colour  are  to  be  observed  by  the  eye.  Is,  then,  the 
expression  of  movement  a  blunter  and  a  coarser  art  ? 
Does  true  refinement  occur  only  in  quiet  things  ?  Is 
not  the  answer  yes  and  no  ?  For  if  refinements  of  form 
and  spacing  and  delicate  gradations  of  colour  and  tex- 
ture are  best  to  be  enjoyed  through  the  contemplation 
of  things  at  rest  under  an  even  lighting,  there  are  other 
refinements  of  beauty  which  are  only  born  of  movement. 
An  artist  must  decide  for  himself  what  rhythmic 
patterns  will  best  express  his  impressions  of  particular 
movements,  and  how  far  he  shall  make  use  of  such 
phenomena  as  we  have  been  discussing.  That  is,  he 
should  let  his  eye  decide  for  him.  It  wiU  select  by 
recollection  what  it  was  that  interested  him,  and  what, 
therefore,  he  will  need  to  master  for  his  work.  Accord- 
ingly, he  may  prefer  only  to  observe  figures  under  move- 
ment and  never  to  make  studies  from  the  model,  or  he 
may  decide  to  study  anatomy  in  order  to  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  the  bones  and  underlying  structures,  or, 
again,  rely  for  such  knowledge  on  observation  of  the 
surface  alone.  Instantaneous  photography,  which  is  the 
anatomy  of  movement,  bearing  much  the  same  relation 
to  it  that  the  skuU  does  to  the  face  we  see,  might  be 
useful  to  him,  but  it  would  be,  I  should  say,  a 
treacherous  ally.    If  we  look  at  the  studies  and  sketches 


of  those  who  could  seize  nature  on  the  wing  and  render 
her  effects,  we  shall  find  that  they  mostly  worked  through 
unflagging  observation  helped  out  with  quick  notes, 
shorthand  records  often  legible  to  themselves  alone.  They 
amplified  such  slight  notes  through  knowledge  of  the 
form  and  the  movements  of  the  figure,  either  taking  such 
knowledge  from  their  general  stock  or  specially  acquiring 
it  for  a  particular  subject.  For  this  purpose  some  of 
them  make  minute  and  elaborate  studies  from  the  model, 
like  Degas ;  others,  like  Daumier,  depend  apparently 
upon  repeated  observation  and  memory  alone. 

Observation  seems  to  be  the  keynote,  the  passive 
observation  which  does  not  start  out,  having  settled  in 
advance  what  it  wants  to  see,  but  is  ready  to  see  what 
nature  will  disclose.  Nature,  as  a  great  artist  said, 
will  give  to  each  man  according  to  his  powers,  if  he  will 
but  sit  humbly  at  her  feet. 

Such  an  attitude  is  surely  the  right  one  in  all  arts, 
and  the  fun  of  it  is  that  the  artist  whose  preference  is 
against  movement  will  be  led,  quite  rightly,  to  turn  his 
back  upon  it  and  upon  aU  that  we  have  been  discussing, 
and  perhaps  go  off  with  the  gentle  Chardin  to  share  the 
charm  of  contemplation  almost  Oriental  in  its  quiescence. 

As  movement,  however,  can  only  be  perceived  through 
recollection  of  its  phases,  it  is  not  possible,  as  has  been 


A   NOTE    ON   THE   DRAWING   OF  MOVEMENT 


31 


already  pointed  out,  to  draw  it  from  a  stationary  thing. 
It  can  never  be  copied  from  a  posing  model,  for  there  it 
does  not  occur.  A  good  illustration  of  how  not  to  do  it 
is  given  by  Verestchagin  in  his  recollections  of  Meissonier. 
He  tells  us  that  when  painting  a  horseman  riding  against 
a  strong  wind  Meissonier  had  a  little  model  with  the 
costume  and  accoutrements  of  horse  and  rider  made  to 
scale  in  their  proper  materials,  that  he  might  have  before 
him  the  correct  details,  and  the  rider's  cloak  was  stiffened 
with  gum  so  that  it  stood  out  in  the  position  of  a  cloak 
blown  by  the  wind  !     I  think  we  may  fairly  ask  would 


Meissonier,  if  he  could,  have  stiffened  the  trees  in  the 
landscape  so  that  they  would  remain  in  the  position  of 
trees  blown  by  the  wind  ? 

No  ripple  on  the  grass  or  water,  no  quiver  of  a  bough 
or  leaf  !  Think  how  you  would  enjoy  your  walk  in  such 
a  scene  !  Think  what  a  landscape  picture  you  would 
paint  from  it  !  Surely  Corot  is  right  in  his  attitude  when 
he  says,  "  Although  when  I  was  young  it  annoyed  me  that 
the  clouds  would  not  keep  still,  now  I  am  glad  they  will 
not,  for  therein  lies  their  beauty  "! 


Paris,  1921. 


L.  D.  L. 


/^■J 


/<^f 


ThX      i-twC 


2.    UP   THE   BOULEVARD.    (47  x  23i) 


w^my. 


3.    COUP  DE  COLLIER.    {49  x  29) 


'  :-■•■''..  -i     >■■  ■J.^  J.^.l -rS 


fl^als^^^ 


4.    TOURNANT  LE  TOMBEREAU.    (52  x  28) 


:'--.':^:--V^r«l 


5.    PLOUGHING  NEAR  SALISBURY.    (27  x  14) 


■^^■-mmm. 


6.    CHARGING  THE  SLOPE.    (i8  x  13) 


:,*&. 


7.      AT  WATER:    UP  THE  SEINE.    {36  x  24) 


8.    TROTTING:   PARIS  ^US  TEAM.    (i8i  x  13J) 


W'-m-<':^mwm 


9.    BETWEEN  THE   STAGES :    PARIS.    (29  x  22J) 


1^ 


10.    ON  THE  TOP  OF  THE  BANK.     (a8  x  20) 


"V-, 


-vi\ 


-^m.; 


11     UNDER  THE   TREES.    (i8  x  13) 


1,.,,    ('■fifl 


1^ 


12.    HARROWING.    (48  x  23) 


13.    UP  THE  "RAMPE"    {40x21) 


14.    TIMBER-HAULING  ON  THE  SEINE.    (72  x  36) 


::--S:-^i>n'' 


^'i',  ■^■',:-:;:is: 


15.    SPRINGING  'EM.    (32  x  23) 


■  '■  ■'-'■■^'Mm 


16.    A  SUMMER  SKY.    (i8  x  13) 


'^4 


17.    THE  SHIRKER.    (30  x  18) 


18.    NIGHT  WORK.    (loj  x  7) 


■.^im 


\'J.>.-:-:^::.:;!W:',-    ■ 


toy^j^inwK>:gi\\i:T/.!t?-';.'.r":^\%":-^^'''V'  ^j'^i-y.vi^-: 


tiyw*  .-^i.-js^ 


''"Ijiife^" 


Cv,     J^ 


a..-. 


k 


IE  BLACK  HORSE.    {OU  Painting,  i8  x  13) 


'm 


X 

> 

>- 
bJ 

Q 

OQ 


% 


z 

o 

H 
en 


21.    TURNING  THE   CORNER:   FRENCH  STONI 


22.    THE  SUNNY  QUAY.    (33l  x  i6t) 


m 


[23.    LED  HORSES,    (gj  x  7}) 


■-■■it:  ;    -r  ■•« 


v« 

i'u  r 

\rfM^^  *'%/l^^ 

^^Kflr^^^r^ 

DEAD  BEAT:   FRENCH  ARTILLERY,  THE  SOMME,  1916.    (23x16!) 


'''::.'!i^P':'M4.W^* 


25.    AN  EFFORT. 


ii'^ : 


26.    BACKING.    (7 


.■rV.;if  ■ 


27.    ON   THE  HILL-TOP  NEAR  PARIS.    (38I  x  26i) 


28.    FALLEN.    (8  x  4j 


BLOWN.    (loi  X 


30.    SAND-CARTS.    {Lithograph.  13I  x  SJ) 


?m:i- 


31.    GUN-TEAM  IN  A  CRATER,    (iij  x  7J) 


m 


32.    THE  SEINE :  WINTER.     (36  x  26) 


mm 


Frwtbd  ST 

Cassell  &  CoiiPAXT,  Limited, 

La  Bblle  Sauvace.  London.  EC  4 


m' 


'H'v^^ii^l 


/'■!fif»>Kv  f'A-i,i<if^. 


lb, 
iOOV 
thGi 


^'■•ivA'^.y. 


